


Vipers that cannot be charmed

by squiddz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Drugged Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rimming, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), snake venom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz/pseuds/squiddz
Summary: He wondered if Crowley ever thought about temptinghim, wrapping his demonic wiles about his limbs. Maybe he'd imagined himself biting down on soft angelic flesh, leaving Aziraphale helpless and vulnerable, to use however he wished. Perhaps he would do all the things Aziraphale had been fantasising about since Rome and even before that, all the things angels weren't supposed to want to do with anyone, let alone an emissary of Hell.Maybe then, Heaven wouldn't blame him, not when there'd been no choice, not when he’d been overpowered and tricked by a demon.Not when it hadn’t been my fault.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 654
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library, The Snake Pit





	Vipers that cannot be charmed

**Author's Note:**

> “For behold, I will send snakes among you, vipers that cannot be charmed, and they will bite you,” declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 8:17)
> 
> Written for the Great Good Omens Snake Off! Many many thanks to Anti_kate for the beta-ing and generally holding my hand through this process, it is quite possible this would have remained a paragraph on a Gdoc if it wasn't for you.
> 
> CW for rape fantasies and drugged sex. Everything is consensual and talked about beforehand, but please heed the tags.

Crowley had mentioned his venom only once.

It was a throwaway comment - centuries back, when they were having a drink together in some forgotten backwoods outside of York - about how it had some rather unusual properties.

“Such as?” Aziraphale had asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

“Oh, you know,” Crowley drawled with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Makes people suggestable, dials up all that sinful pent up lust. Helps with the tempting.”

Aziraphale had watched him carefully from across their table, bathed in the yellow lamplight that cut through the dingy gloom of the tavern. He was darkly alluring - eyes hidden behind black lenses, auburn hair turned to cascades of fire, all the gilded edges of his sharp face glowing magnificently. The back of Aziraphale’s head started tingling, an itch demanding to be noticed.

Before he could dwell on it too much, the conversation had already moved on to complaining about mud and rain and stubborn horses. But later, when he'd retired to his own quarters after agreeing to a quick temptation on his way to Manchester, Aziraphale found he couldn't stop thinking about it. Something deep inside his stomach stirred, some twisting murky thing pulling itself free.

He wondered if Crowley ever thought about tempting _him_ , wrapping his demonic wiles about his limbs. Maybe he'd imagined himself biting down on soft angelic flesh, leaving Aziraphale helpless and vulnerable, to use however he wished. Perhaps he would do all the things Aziraphale had been fantasising about since Rome and even before that, all the things angels weren't supposed to want to do with _anyone,_ let alone an emissary of Hell.

Maybe then, Heaven wouldn't blame him, not when there'd been no choice, not when he’d been overpowered and tricked by a demon.

_Not when it hadn’t been my fault._

The idea wouldn’t leave him. It was a stray ember that settled on his thoughts and burned a slow, steady hole at the back of his mind. Even after Armageddon, when he and Crowley could make love without fear of divine or infernal retribution, it still glowed red-hot every time Crowley touched him, kissed him, came inside him. He _wanted_ to tell Crowley of course, wanted to rid himself of these terrible secrets, but every time he tried they sat in his mouth like burning coals, scorching through his tongue.

Until, finally, one emotional evening they all tumbled out of him, black and hard, the crushed remains of once beautiful things.

He was terrified of what Crowley might think of him then, terrified to look up into those ochre eyes and find nothing but disgust. When he at last managed to lift his head, Crowley was staring at him. There was some concern and some hurt, but mostly there was an abundance of gentle understanding. The mix of relief and shame swirling with the love already brimming in his chest spilled over and he spent the rest of the night crying into Crowley's shoulder.

Eventually they decided it might help if they explored the scenario, together. They discussed it at length, carefully planning how it might play out, and Aziraphale was able to partition the whole thing squarely in some far corner of his mind.

Until tonight.

There wasn't really anything particularly _special_ about tonight, nothing auspicious or out of the ordinary. It had, in fact, been a downright normal day. He'd pottered around the bookshop, scared off a few customers, and later had gone out for a meal with Crowley. And then the sky faded, sunlight giving way to neon pink signs and orange street lamps, and Crowley had disappeared into the damp night air.

The artificial lights outside didn’t reach into the depths of the bookshop. The backroom was instead bathed in the hazy glow of an old lamp sitting on a side table in a dusty corner. Aziraphale mindlessly flipped through a book laid out in front of him on the cluttered surface of his desk. Something for his nervous hands to do. Tension coiled in his stomach, a dense complicated knot of anticipation, thrilling and dreadful all at once.

And then he felt it.

A distortion in the air, a dark ripple of occult energy undulating across the bookshop floor. A flash of black and red slid past his feet, setting his pulse thrumming under his collar. He shifted in his desk chair and moved his hands to grip at the armrests.

"I know you're there, Crowley."

There was the whisper of something moving against the rug, and then a voice came from behind him, thick and oily.

"Wassssn't trying to hide, angel."

Aziraphale stayed where he was, spine rigid and muscles tense as adrenaline shot through him. He tried to remember the sort of self-righteous defensive things he'd said in the past - the daggers he’d used to keep Crowley away.

"That's awfully bold of you. Your ego will be your undoing, you foul serpent."

He jumped as the head of a snake appeared next to his thigh, a great black diamond gliding across his lap. The glossy column of Crowley's body grazed the bulge in his trousers where he was already half hard. The tease of friction made him inhale sharply. Black scales circled around him as Crowley looped around his torso, pinning his arms to his side with suffocating pressure. His head came to rest on Aziraphale’s thigh, tongue flicking at the fabric stretched over his cock.

"I dunno, lookssss like my ego isssn’t far wrong, wouldn't you sssay?"

Aziraphale’s breath caught in the back of his throat, cheeks burning. He’d been caught out so quickly. Crowley’s head rose to eye level, the coils of his body still constricting and compressing, holding him firmly in place.

It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had last seen Crowley take his serpent form. Probably not since the Garden. He’d forgotten how otherworldly he looked like this, how striking the crimson underbelly was against his ebony scales, how utterly inhuman his eyes were. They were watching him now, lidless and expressionless, and Aziraphale was equal parts mesmerised and terrified.

Crowley’s head disappeared behind him and then there was the flutter of a tongue along the soft skin just behind his jaw. Aziraphale shuddered helplessly against it.

“Not in the mood for talking anymore?” The voice was dark and viscous, like molasses in his ear.

“I… let me go, Crowley.” It came out raspy, strangled, a weak demand that he didn’t really mean.

The tongue tickled at his neck, just above his shirt collar. “Now why would I do that? I’ve got you exactly where I want you, _angel_.” The last word dripped with poison. Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut.

“Please…” he breathed.

“Are you sssscared?” Crowley taunted. “I can fix that.”

Lightning quick, Crowley struck and clamped his mouth down over the thick tendon in Aziraphale’s neck. He yelped at the sharp sting where fangs pierced delicate skin. An intense heat began radiating out from the bite, blossoming across his body and making him light-headed. His eyelids drifted shut as a soft sigh slipped out of him.

The effect of the venom was far stronger than Aziraphale had anticipated. Crowley had walked him through it, explained how it worked and the various stages of intoxication, but it still couldn’t quite prepare him for the full experience. It was almost like being very drunk, the way his grip on the world slipped from him, the way it made his thoughts move through his head like honey. But it also made him keenly aware of every physical sensation. Everything was amplified - the straining ache of his cock, the crushing pressure of Crowley’s serpentine body, the caustic pain from the bite. For a moment Aziraphale thought it might all be too much.

Then the coils of scaled restraints fell away and were replaced by the wiry muscles of Crowley’s arms reaching out across his chest from behind the chair. He gripped Aziraphale’s jaw in one hand, tipping his head back to bring his ear next to his mouth.

“Colour, love?” he whispered softly.

Aziraphale let his head loll backwards into Crowley’s shoulder and he swallowed thickly, his tongue stuck to the roof of his dried-up mouth. “Green.”

Long fingers curled tighter around his face, and then something wet and velvety swiped over the bite on his neck. With his body steeped in venom, every millimeter of skin underneath that unnaturally long tongue burned exquisitely. He keened softly.

When Crowley spoke, his words were devoid of any gentleness, tinged instead with scorn. "That feel good then, hm?"

"Wh-what have you done to me?" Aziraphale slurred. Crowley ran his other hand - the one that didn't have a claw-like grasp on his jaw - over Aziraphale's chest and onto his belly, fingers splayed out as it crept further south. The feeling was a delicious agony that was only intensified as Crowley reached between his legs and gave his rock-hard cock a squeeze. Aziraphale’s spine arched at the sensation and he moaned obscenely.

"Just helping things along," Crowley purred in his ear. 

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s arms to find a scattering of scales over the pale skin, studs of onyx that glittered in the dim light, while his fingertips had twisted into sharp black points. The sight of it all, of those monstrous limbs claiming his body, set his insides on fire.

“Crowley, stop,” he said breathlessly. In response, Crowley caressed his aching cock again, and Aziraphale’s back curved up off the chair as though it was electrified.

“I think it’s a little late for you to play coy.” His mouth was close enough for Aziraphale to feel the slight catch of a sharp fang on the shell of his ear. “You’ve been teasing me for far too long, angel.”

Aziraphale was floating, suspended in the syrupy air that now filled the bookshop. He managed to shake his head weakly. “No… not teasing…”

Crowley laughed, and the bitterly cruel note to it sent a thrilling shock of cold panic through his stomach. “Is that what you tell yourself?” The fingers on his jaw walked themselves to his mouth, and the claw on his index finger hooked at his plump bottom lip. “Is that what you tell yourself when you wrap this pretty little mouth around your desserts in front of me? Make all those filthy noises?”

Tears started burning in his eyes as guilt welled up from some deep dark place. “No, that’s not… I wouldn’t do that.”

Crowley pulled away from him then, and the absence of his touch was almost as excruciating as the drag of his hands along his overstimulated body. He was then shoved out of the chair and sent crashing into the desk. The chair careened off to the side as Crowley kicked it out of the way and pinned Aziraphale down onto the desktop, one hand pushing firmly between his shoulder blades, the rest of his body grinding Aziraphale’s hips, pressing his dripping cock into the hard edge of the desk. The pages of the book he'd been pretending to read earlier stuck to his sweat-damp cheeks.

He squirmed under Crowley’s weight, but he was held fast, Crowley clearly summoning some demonic strength from within. With a struggle, Aziraphale turned his head to catch a glimpse of him over his shoulder.

The sight was exceptionally arresting. He was topless, with more black scales sprayed across his body like flakes of obsidian. They were densely layered over the top half of his face, giving the illusion of a pair of glowing sulfurous eyes staring at him from the shadows. 

This, too, had been an important part of it all. The snake aspects, the distinctly un-Crowley features. When he'd first started having these fantasies, Aziraphale had wondered if he could ever push Crowley into tempting him, could ever make him snap and force the decision.

And every time their paths dovetailed back together, Aziraphale was reminded of Crowley's tenderness, his quiet patience, his propensity to give and please and love. Crowley would flash him an easy smile, and Aziraphale felt the shame catch on his heart like the thorns of a bramble bush. So the fantasy changed. He built a different Crowley in his head, an ever-shifting demonic monstrosity that would _want_ to hurt him, to defile him. 

Guilt overlaid on guilt, built up like layers of rotting paint on a wall, until Aziraphale had feared he might forget entirely the original colour underneath.

The Crowley before him now was far more hellish than he'd ever seen him, every bit a creature forged from fire and brimstone. It was frightening and beautiful and Aziraphale wanted him desperately.

Crowley leaned forward, close enough for the heat of his breath to prickle at the back of Aziraphale's neck. His hips were forced harder into the edge of the desk, and he writhed uselessly in an attempt to find some friction.

“I think you’re lying,” Crowley said smugly. “Look at you, practically begging for it.”

The words sent a hot flush to his face and he tried to curl in on himself, to hide just how true that was. All he could manage pinned to the desk was to burrow his head into the crook of his elbow. “No - no I’m not, you did this to me.”

Crowley pulled back and ran his hands slowly down either side of Aziraphale’s body, coming to rest on his hips. The anticipation had him practically quivering against the desktop.

“Oh, angel, I think we both know you’ve wanted this for some _time_.” On that last word, Crowley jerked Aziraphale away from the desk, just far enough to be able to slip a hand between his legs and give a tantalising squeeze. Aziraphale whined at the touch, a thin high-pitched noise from the back of his throat. With deft fingers, Crowley began undoing the buttons of his trousers before letting them fall, along with his briefs, to pool around his shins. The cold air stung against his over-sensitive skin, and he let out a little gasp.

Crowley ran a hand over the soft expanse of one cheek, the graze of claws against skin sending a crackling jolt right to his cock. Aziraphale tried to readjust himself, to touch himself, to find any kind of relief for the ache between his legs. As soon as he had his arms beneath him, Crowley’s hand seized the back of his neck and slammed him down into the desk, knocking the wind out of him.

"No, you're staying right there." The tone was cold, something sinister lurking just underneath. Aziraphale tried to catch his breath, but all he managed was a choked sob. The grip on his neck tightened and the pinpricks of claws pinched at his skin, making his entire body freeze with quite real fear. Crowley released him slowly, and Aziraphale remained agonisingly still.

“There’s a good boy,” he murmured. He slid back to Aziraphale’s rear, kneading the flesh of his cheeks with both hands and edging a thumb closer and closer to his entrance. Aziraphale tried desperately not to move into the touch, but at this point his whole body was flooded with arousal.

“Crowley… please…”

Crowley gave an amused laugh. “ _Please what_ , exactly?” 

Aziraphale squirmed on the desk, whimpering helplessly. He felt ashamed and exposed, but he so urgently wanted to beg Crowley to touch him.

“ _Please stop_ ? _Please fuck me_?” The mockery in Crowley’s tone made another hot flush roll over Aziraphale’s body. “What do you want?”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” he replied earnestly between sobs.

“Well, why don’t I make the decision for you?"

The pads of Crowley’s thumbs pressed harder, spreading him open, and Aziraphale shivered at the feeling of being on display. And then something hot and wet slowly dragged between his cheeks, forcing a protracted cry out of him.

The forked tip of Crowley's tongue circled teasingly around his entrance. Aziraphale suddenly felt frustratingly empty, desperate for Crowley inside of him. His thighs were burning from the effort of staying still, hips twitching as he tried not to just push into the heat of Crowley licking at him.

"Crowley," he sobbed, torn between wanting to protest again to get another reaction out of him, and the frantic desire to just beg for release.

After what felt like hours but must have only been a minute, Crowley's tongue finally pushed inside him. Aziraphale melted into a whimpering mess on the desk, his face crumpling the pages of the book underneath him. The sensation was tortuous - it wasn't anywhere near thick enough to feel as full as he craved, but it was long and dextrous, and scraped along inside him in an excruciating fashion.

The serpentine tongue curled and found the right spot inside him, sending an electrifying wave of pleasure up his spine. Aziraphale cried out and was unable to stop his hips from bucking closer to Crowley's face to get a better angle. It gave him a thrill when Crowley tightened his grip on him in response and crushed his hips into the desk, holding him firm. All Aziraphale could do was lie face down, hips pinned in place, while Crowley lapped at his prostate.

Aziraphale's head was swimming. The overwhelming pleasure was sharpened exquisitely by the pain of the desk digging into his hips. His untouched cock throbbed underneath him, pressed against his stomach and leaking all over the piles of papers on his desk. Saliva ran down the inside of his thigh and his skin buzzed with heat, pressure started mounting in his abdomen.

"Crowley, I'm…"

He tried to get the words out between his frustrated sobs. Crowley had explained to him beforehand that the venom would break down once he found release, so if he wasn't ready for the scene to end he needed to tell him to stop.

"Crowley, please I'm - yellow, I'm close…"

Crowley withdrew immediately. Aziraphale whined at the sudden loss, clenching down on emptiness. He could hear shuffling behind him as Crowley took a step back. He could practically feel Crowley's eyes roving hungrily across his vulnerable form.

"Oh, angel, look at the state of you. You've been fucking desperate for this, haven't you?"

The words made his face burn and his cock twitch, which only served to dredge up more guilt. Because it was true. He _had_ been desperate for this, for a very long time. So many evenings he’d spent imagining Crowley crawling into his tent and pinning his wrists down above his head, or cornering him down a side street and throwing him against a wall. He'd thought about it after Crowley had freed him from the Bastille, had later pleasured himself at the thought of Crowley delighted to have found him chained up and vulnerable, offering help only in exchange for something else.

He'd been desperate for this for so long, and all he wanted right now was for Crowley to hold him down and fuck him until he screamed.

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him up from the desk. He held Aziraphale against him with one arm across his chest and the other around his waist. The rough chafing of denim on his bare skin sent a shiver all over his body. Crowley was hard and Aziraphale found it difficult to not rub up against him. He reached up to grasp at the arm clasped across his chest, to feel the strength holding him in place. His chest heaved and his legs trembled, and it took him a few moments to string a coherent thought together.

“Let me go, Crowley,” he whined. Crowley tightened his hold, and Aziraphale felt the toned muscles of his forearm shift underneath his scaly skin.

There was heat at his ear as Crowley pressed his nose up against the side of his face. “Oh, we’re not done yet," he said, voice low and menacing. He reached down and pulled on Aziraphale’s erection once - ecstacy and torture simultaneously. “I think you’re ready to take my cock now.”

He snapped his fingers and Aziraphale found himself completely naked. He gasped at the sudden rush of new sensations - the sharp cold air, the mottled texture of hot skin and cool scales on Crowley's torso, the heady combination of shame and excitement at being left so helpless and exposed.

Crowley pushed him roughly into the side of the sofa and bent him over the armrest, shoving Aziraphale face down into one of the throw pillows. He sobbed into it. He needed Crowley to touch him, to be inside him. Crowley draped over him and his voice was at his ear again.

“Colour, angel?”

“ _Green_ ,” Aziraphale choked out. “Green green green green…” His words dissolved into babbling nonsense as he whimpered into the cushion.

Crowley pulled back and grabbed at Aziraphale’s hips, talons digging into the soft flesh of his thighs. “You look good bent over for me, angel.” He retracted the claws on two of his fingers and swiped them over Aziraphale’s spit-slick entrance. Aziraphale let out a stifled moan into the cushion. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

He wanted to tell Crowley that he was, that he needed Crowley to fuck him, use him, do whatever he wanted with him. His entire being had been stripped down to desire, every last fiber and sinew in his body pulled taut with arousal, every multidimensional cord of his angelic core vibrating with want.

Aziraphale heard a soft click behind him, and then without warning, two wet fingers pushed into him. He cried out at the sudden intrusion, clenching down tightly as Crowley fingered him open. He worked slowly, almost lazily, stretching him out and grazing his fingertips just shy of gratification. It was utter torment.

Finally, he pulled out, leaving Aziraphale feeling empty again. There was the clink of a belt coming undone, the sounds of denim being adjusted, and then he felt the pressure of the blunt tip of Crowley’s cock pressing up against him. Aziraphale was all but crying, desperate for Crowley to fuck him into the sofa cushions.

Crowley pressed a hand down onto the small of his back, his entire weight behind it. "I'm going to take everything I've wanted for six thousand years, and you're going to lie there and let me."

And then he was pushing in, slowly and deliberately. Aziraphale sobbed at the sweet relief of being filled, at the satisfying burn that cut through the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re just as tight as I imagined.”

Crowley, of course, knew exactly what it felt like to be inside Aziraphale. They’d been doing this for a year now, after all. The first time they'd had sex after their celebratory lunch at the Ritz, the pair of them had laid entwined together for hours afterwards, deliriously soaking up each other’s presence and still not quite believing any of the last two days had been real. It was what Aziraphale had dreamed of for millennia, but even through the hazy afterglow, he felt the guilt crawling out of the deepest crevices of his heart, from the gaps between his bones. It was there every time they made love, strangling and suffocating and blocking out Crowley’s radiant face. The gratifying sting of Crowley entering him dulled the feeling, and he often wished Crowley would take him harder, faster, just to make it hurt more. The burn was purifying, and chased the guilt back into the darkness. The burn was no less than he deserved.

Crowley didn’t stop pushing until he was fully seated inside Aziraphale. It was overwhelming and painful and he was nearly giddy from pleasure.

“Look at you,” Crowley said, voice coarse. “Took the whole thing like the greedy little angel you are.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. His hands clawed at the pillow, bunches of the material gathered under his white-knuckle grip. “I can’t… I don’t…”

Crowley dragged himself out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming his hips back down with surprising force. Aziraphale moaned, loudly and shamelessly. He moved himself forward in an attempt to look as though he was struggling, but mostly served to find a deeper angle for Crowley’s cock. A firm hand came down on the back of his neck and pushed him forcefully into the cushion, holding him in place.

“You're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you.”

Crowley started thrusting faster, taking up a ruthless pace and pounding Aziraphale against the armrest. With every swing of his hips, he sent waves of fire over Aziraphale’s skin that consumed all his thoughts and left nothing but the swelling pleasure and throbbing pain. His straining cock slapped against the side of the sofa and he reached back to take hold of it, unable to restrain himself any longer. He managed to pull on it only a few times before Crowley grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm to pin it behind his back. Aziraphale whimpered pathetically and tried to break out of the hold.

"This is mine," Crowley growled, and grabbed him with his other hand.

"Yes," Aziraphale choked out. "Yours - all yours - all of me, yours… please Crowley - please."

Crowley began stroking him in time with the slam of his hips, and Aziraphale cried out, his whole body set alight. Everything around him started blurring, shapes running into each other like watercolours.

"That's right," Crowley said, strained and breathless. The sound of Crowley coming undone behind him made his stomach clench. "Mine - to do with as I please."

Crowley's pace was relentless, the slap of skin against skin filling the space in the back of the bookshop. With every stroke of his cock, the pressure in his abdomen built, a burning white light inside him. He was gasping for air, whimpering with every breath out.

"Fuck," Crowley hissed. "You're gonna - you're gonna come for me, angel. Want you to come on my cock for me."

Everything was becoming too much. His shoulder ached from being wrenched back, his lower half felt almost split open from the brutal fucking. His every nerve was firing, that white light taking over his entire body until he could barely see, barely hear, was nothing but incandescent pleasure and searing pain.

He called out Crowley's name as he finally spilled out against the leather of the sofa, body spasming through wave after wave of orgasm. He was dimly aware of Crowley tensing and releasing inside him before he lost track of the world entirely.

Aziraphale let himself crumple into a dazed heap on the sofa. The bookshop spun behind his closed eyelids. Overwhelmed and overstimulated, limbs weighed down by seized muscles, he couldn’t move even if he’d wanted.

He felt a hand cradle the back of his head, broad and gentle. Somewhere in the distance, Crowley's voice was speaking to him, but couldn’t make out the words over the roar of his pulse in his ears.

There was a snap of fingers and his surroundings rippled before they gave way to somewhere warm and soft. He was lying down, someone softly stroking his hair, his face. And then suddenly everything became sharper, clearer, like water had drained out of his ears. He opened his eyes and winced at the brightness. It took him a moment to piece together where he was. He recognised the soft downy comforter of their bed above the bookshop, the terrycloth of his pyjamas against his skin. There were a few extra plump pillows beneath his head, and a soothing warmth at his side.

"Welcome back," Crowley said gently. Aziraphale blinked a few times and the brilliant light in front of him materialised into Crowley’s lovely face. All the scales were gone, all the claws and all the scorn. Just marigold eyes and tousled copper hair, brushed with the golden glow of the bedside lamp.

"Are you alright?"

He was stroking the side of Aziraphale's face with a warm hand, and he wanted nothing more than to melt into it completely. "Yes, darling, I'm fine." He shifted a little and was reminded of the heaviness in his limbs. "Just a bit tired."

"That's normal," Crowley said, running his blunt fingers through blonde curls. "You'll probably need to sleep for a little, even if it's just a few hours."

Sleep sounded like a marvelous idea right now, and was already curling around the edges of his consciousness. But he wasn't ready to drift off just yet.

"Are _you_ alright?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley gave a startled laugh. "Me? Yeah, 'course I am." He looked thoughtful for a moment before he continued. "I mean, I was worried I might not be able to do it at the start. But it was a bit cathartic, I think. To let all the demon-y bits out."

A look of uncertainty passed over his features, a brief hint of fear that squeezed at Aziraphale's heart.

"I just hope I gave you what you wanted."

"Oh, my darling." Aziraphale took hold of Crowley's hand still on his cheek and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "Crowley, _this_ is what I wanted. What we have now, it's what I wanted the whole time. I just never thought we'd be able--"

The rest of the words stuck in the back of his throat as tears started prickling in his eyes. Crowley hushed him and gathered him up in his arms, letting Aziraphale burrow his face into the crook of his neck.

"It's alright, I know," he said into Aziraphale's hair. "Angel, I know."

They stayed like that for some time, just holding each other in silence. Aziraphale listened to the rising and falling tide of Crowley's breathing, the steady rhythm of his completely unnecessary heartbeat. He let his thoughts drift, replaying the evening’s events. Something hooked at the back of his mind.

"Crowley," he said, breaking the silence. "You didn't really think I was a tease, did you?"

"Nah," came the sleepy reply. "Bit flirty maybe, but so was I."

"Because I really do just love desserts."

"Yes, I am _painfully_ aware of that fact."

Aziraphale looped an arm around Crowley’s waist. "Maybe we could go to that bakery near Covent Garden tomorrow."

Crowley laughed softly into Aziraphale's hair. "Do you just have some kind of Pavlovian dessert response to danger or something?"

"I do like their pavlova..."

"Someone help me."

"And their eclairs. Oh, and those lovely little lemon tarts."

"Angel, you can have every single pastry they've got if that's what you want."

Aziraphale laughed and sank contentedly into Crowley's chest. “I do want that, very much.”

“Well then, that settles it.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the side of Crowley’s neck and nuzzled in closer. As sleep at last began to swallow him up, Aziraphale sighed heavily, safely wrapped up in the coils of the Serpent of Eden.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](heavens-bookshop.tumblr.com)!


End file.
